A Cold Night
by That's Griminal
Summary: After a surprise hound attack away from their camp, Maxwell is left looking after Wilson for the night. (Basically, A and B are both hurt and A has to take care of B. Also I'm bad at summaries.)
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first Don't Starve fic and my first attempt at writing after a long time of just not writing. So it's not that good, but I am hoping to improve. Also I did write this instead of sleeping... Enjoy_

* * *

"Come on, Higgsbury. We're almost there," Maxwell uttered between breaths, walking slowly through the snow. He was lying of course, at their current pace camp was still a few hours away, but he needed to keep the man presently leaning heavily on him to continue walking. No reply came and he stumbled, suddenly carrying the entire weight of the man. Wonderful.

He glanced down. Wilson was in bad shape. He wasn't sure of the full extent of his injuries, but from the dark stains on his ripped waistcoat and trousers it was clear the man needed medical attention. He himself wasn't doing too good either. The cuts at the side of his head stung and he was limping badly, uncertain of the exact cause, but the shooting pain in his leg might be the culprit.

Their little trip to check the rabbit traps away from camp should have taken not more than half the day. They had left early morning and would have been back as dusk settled on the world, winter shortening the time in full sunlight. But just as they had reached the traps, the hounds had made themselves heard, warning them of their eminent attack. Luckily, they had been prepared, but the number of hounds had been more than usual, drawing out the fight and with the cold slowing their reflexes they had suffered a bit.

The sky was growing darker, the wind picking up and biting at their exposed skin. Maxwell stopped, moving the arm around his neck to a more comfortable position as he scanned the area. They were going to have to settle down for the night. He didn't like it, but with the temperature dropping and the very limited visibility of a torch their chances weren't looking that good. His eyes fell on the edge of a pine forest, not that far from them. Not much cover against the cold, but better than sitting in the open, it would have to do.

They reached the trees just as snow started falling, making their way a bit deeper into the forest. The trees didn't help much, but it kept some of the wind and snow out.

Maxwell trudged over to one of the larger trees, awkwardly guiding Wilson down against the base. He needed to get a fire going and quickly, they wouldn't survive an encounter with Charlie. Kneeling next to his dropped backpack, he fished out their emergency wood and grass they had taken with them. He stacked them next to Wilson, making sure to leave a large enough distance. He rubbed his hands together, taking the flint and lighting the dried grass, blowing on it until it started feeding off the fuel. He looked up at the darkening sky. Still some time before complete darkness, he should go get more firewood. Then again, he couldn't risk waking a treegaurd. He'd have to stick with twigs then.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was the cold. It nipped at him through his clothes, not quite settling in his bones yet, but not far from it either. He shivered and flinched at the pain in his side. Moving was proving to be a challenge and he groaned his frustration.

"Alright there, pal?"

Wilson opened his eyes, glaring at the sight of Maxwell hunkered down by the fire. He saw the man wince and struggle slightly to get up, eyeing him curiously as he approached.

"I was lucky enough to come across a stray spider, managed to get the gland out of it," he stated as he knelt next to Wilson, rummaging in his backpack.

"You actually got your hands dirty?" Wilson laughed tiredly. He knew full Maxwell hated dealing with spiders. He didn't mind killing them but actually cutting one open to remove the gland? That he left for Wilson, claiming it was beneath him to go rummaging around in the inner workings of an overgrown spider.

Maxwell shot him a look, not having the energy to entertain the man with a reply. He moved the glistening gland over to Wilson's bloodied side.

"What are you doing?" Wilson protested weakly, trying to keep the other's hands away.

"I thought you prided yourself on your intelligence, Higgsbury. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I saw you limping, Maxwell. You need it as much as I do." Maxwell opting to treat him instead of himself? Seemed a little beyond the expectations he had for the man. Wilson eyed him suspiciously. Perhaps he had received some unseen injury to the head.

Maxwell rolled his eyes. "Higgsbury, as much as I would love to smear spider secretions on myself, your injuries are in more immediate need of care."

Before Wilson could interject, he batted away the protesting hands, squeezing the gland with one hand and dripping the foul liquid onto the wound. Wilson tensed, grunting as the liquid burned his exposed flesh. Maxwell rubbed the area with his free hand as gently as his frozen fingers could, ensuring the entire wound got covered. Wilson gave a muffled yelp through his clenched jaw, breathing heavily.

"Also, I would prefer you not passing out from pain, you are quite heavy and I have no desire to carry you. Again." He searched his backpack. He knew Wilson had a thermal stone. They only had one vest between them and Wilson had been kind enough to let him have it for the trip (as well as some snide remarks about his age), while he had taken the thermal stone. He had seen Wilson drop it when the hounds attacked and he vaguely remembered grabbing it, but he wasn't sure. Relief flooded him as he felt the ice-cold stone beneath the tufts of grass on the bottom of his backpack.

He added more sticks to the fire, placing the thermal stone close by. It was then he realised the scientist hadn't said a word after his treatment. He glanced back, seeing the man fast asleep, shivering in the cold. He was glad for the silence, but given the circumstances he actually felt somewhat lonely. A gust of wind made him shiver and he crossed his arms. He hadn't intended to spend the night battered and bruised keeping watch over his companion, making sure neither he or the fire died. Usually the man kept himself busy with 'science' or by mending traps or just usual activities around their camp. Even when the man was asleep there was a sort of reassurance that he wasn't alone. If need be he was there, and that was a small comfort for Maxwell.

But now, he was completely out of it. He knew the man was there, he could just turn around and he'd see him. But he won't be able to help if something happened. No, Maxwell had full responsibility for both their lives now and that made him extremely uneasy.

He scoffed, watching the thermal stone slowly heat up. Why was he having these thoughts? Before he joined up with Wilson he had done an alright job at surviving alone. Sure, it was a bit tough, but the loneliness hadn't bothered him then. He must have gone soft. Spent too much time around the other man. But, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he's grown fond of having company.

Behind him, Wilson groaned in his sleep, bringing Maxwell out of his thoughts. He picked up the thermal stone, pleasantly warm, and placed it on Wilson's stomach. He gave a small smile as Wilson immediately curled his arms around the stone. He looked back at the fire. It should be fine for a while, he just needed to sit down, get his weight of his injured leg.

He slid down next to Wilson, stretching his weary legs out in front of him and tucking his hand in beneath his armpits. The vest wasn't particularly warm when it had a few holes in it. He'd have to get Wilson to fix it when they get back to camp. He shivered, letting out a sigh. He was so tired.

There was a pressure on his shoulder and when he looked down he found the shivering scientist pressed to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. He entertained the thought of just tipping him the other way and watching him slowly fall over. He smirked. Maybe some other day, he promised himself as he let his head fall back against the tree trunk.

* * *

He was only just aware of the cold pressed against him. Not as cold as the wind on his back though. As soon as he tried shifting into a more comfortable position a coughing fit overtook him. He blinked wearily, unable to see much in the low light and falling snow. His thoughts were slow to form. The fire.

He'd fallen asleep. The light from the fire had retreated, leaving him in the semi darkness. Struggling, his body protesting with cold exhaustion, he got up and fed the fire sticks until it roared brightly. He winced at a cough again, hands probing his tender chest. Breathing was starting to hurt. Brushing the snow from his hair, he turned his attention to Wilson, now on his side. Must have fallen over when he got up.

The thermal stone was already deathly cold when he took it from Wilson. He paused, staring at the man.

"Higgsbury?" He knelt and shook the man. Wilson wasn't shivering anymore, something telling him that wasn't good. "No," his voice was quiet yet laced with urgency. He threw the thermal stone towards the fire, eyes not leaving the unmoving figure before him. Pressing his fingers to the man's neck, he searched for a pulse. It was much too weak for his liking. "Come on, Wilson. Wake up." He stood, unsure what to do, all his thoughts competing with each other to be heard. Luckily, one was victorious. Warmth. He had to warm him up and fast.

He kicked the snow beneath him away, shrugging off his vest as he did. Placing it over Wilson, he grabbed him underneath the arms and dragged him closer to the fire. He sat down, pulling Wilson into his chest, hoping to share some of his body heat. He grabbed hold of the heated thermal stone and placed it beneath the vest against Wilson. Would that be enough? He awkwardly shook off his suit jacket, his ribs protesting against the movement, and positioned it over Wilson as well.

This was his fault. If he hadn't sat down and fallen asleep, he wouldn't have had to deal with this. If he'd just kept watch over the fire there would have been no need for this sharing nonsense. He felt the man's pulse again. Still weak. He glanced at the fire. What if it wasn't just the cold? What if he was bleeding out as well? No, the spider gland would have stopped the bleeding. He sat quiet for another moment, shivering. What if the bleeding was internal? There was nothing he could do here for that.

He started coughing. Now that the moment of panic and adrenaline was gone he grew aware of how much his chest hurt. Every cough and gulp for air was like a fist to the chest. When it died down, he found himself leaning forward on Wilson as much as the man was leaning on him. His mind already entertaining how nice a nap would be.

No. This was how it started. Sitting here feeling sorry for himself and how exhausted and cold he was, was not going to help them at all. So, he sat up straighter, breathing as deeply as his ribs allowed. If he had to guess, he'd say they already made it past midnight if not further. Only a few more hours before they could make their way back to camp.

He looked at Wilson. He was certain he was shivering again, that at least was something. The man stirred slightly, groaning quietly.

"Welcome back, Higgsbury. And here I thought I had finally gotten rid of you," he jested. Wilson replied by letting his head fall back onto Maxwell's shoulder. "Oh, don't mind me, Higgsbury. Just make yourself comfortable."

Talking to the man, even without a reply felt better than sitting in the quiet. So, he talked. He spoke of his performances, elaborating on every tiny detail, yet conveniently left out his dear assistant. And when had no more to tell of his performances, he moved on to the next thing, explaining to the sleeping man how he had built the world they were trying to survive in, all the while keeping the fire burning and brushing off the snow that would collect on them. He didn't speak of his experiences on the throne and what They did to him or what happened to Charlie, he could already feel Their eyes on him, watching from the inky darkness around them.

His voice grew tired, a hoarse deep whisper finishing up his last story. Wilson was still fast asleep. The first light of morning had just begun showing. Mercifully the snow had stopped falling and the wind had died down completely. He was looking forward to sleeping for a week when they got back to camp.

* * *

 _I do want to practice writing more, but I feel that all my ideas are stupid haha. So feel free to send me a request in the comments or a private message. I will try to write any Don't Starve related piece except smut, I also prefer Maxwell and Wilson as they are my favourite characters._

 _ _Final chapter to follow in the next few day.__

 _~That's Griminal_


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson woke with a start. What had that crash been? Taking in his surroundings, he slowly realised he was in a tent. The lantern and thermal stone either side of him the only light, casting soft shadows on the tent walls. He was back at camp. He gingerly poked at the dull ache in his side, feeling a bandage underneath the fabric. There was another crash followed by coughing and he frowned, deciding it would be best to go investigate.

"Maxwell?" He asked stepping out of the tent. "What the hell are you doing?" He was sore and tired and overall just not in the mood for the magician's antics.

"Oh, finally decided to join me in the land of the living, eh pal?" He threw a log onto the pile, getting a glare from Wilson. "My apologies, Higgsbury. I did not mean to wake you."

Wilson couldn't decide if Maxwell meant that to be sincere, not with that tone. He stared at the man. His left leg had a limp and he moved stiffly, trying to hide the discomfort in his face. It looked like he had attempted to clean himself up, though he had missed the gash at the side of his head, traces of blood still visible at his temple and ear. He should take care of that, an infection in this world would not end good at all. Maybe give the man a once over as well in case he missed something else, he was never really good at looking after himself after all.

"Higgsbury!"

"Hm, what?" He must have zoned out a bit there.

Maxwell glared at him. "I find it tedious to repeat myself, Higgsbury, surely you should know that by now." He winced at a cough. "Like I said, your backpack is still somewhere in that grassland. You can retrieve it when you go harvest the traps, Deerclops won't be coming for a few days and we had the hounds yesterday so you'll be quite alright. Provided you don't freeze or get caught in the dark," he frowned. "But I'm sure-"

"Wait," Wilson interrupted. "How did we get back? I remember the hound attack, but…" he trailed off. "That happened yesterday, you say?"

Maxwell eyed him suspiciously. "Mm, you were out for the count most of the time."

"Undoubtedly. What did I miss?" He waited for Maxwell to continue.

"You don't recall anything?" He hoped Wilson didn't remember that decidedly awkward sharing of body heat episode. If that weren't enough he just had to spend the rest of the time yapping about everything like a scared child. It was embarrassing.

Wilson shook his head.

Oh, thank goodness. His secrets were still safe. "Ah, well. I had the pleasure of dragging you through the snow. Had to spend the night in the forest. I say, you should check that you still have all your toes, it was dreadfully cold," he smirked darkly for a second, before a coughing fit overtook him.

Wilson stepped forward, hand going for Maxwell's shoulder. "Are you alright? That's a pretty bad cough."

"I'm fine," he gasped, waving Wilson away. He coughed again and stumbled, steadied by Wilson.

"I think you should go lie down, Maxwell." He steered the man towards the tent. He was a bit surprised at how easy it was to get him to comply, he must be exhausted or in considerable pain.

"That's it, careful now." It was tricky guiding him down onto the fur roll, his lanky form took up more space. "Here," he pushed a scrunched up blanket underneath Maxwell's head, propping him up. He rummaged in one of the chests by the tent entrance. "Take off your shirt, will you?" He took out the healing salve and continued searching. "You probably have a cracked rib or something with that cough of yours," he added as he found the honey poultice. "Maxwell?" He had expected the man to complain about all this, but he was uncharacteristically silent so far. Glancing over at him, he saw why; Maxwell had already fallen asleep, snoring quietly, exhaustion having got the better of him.

Wilson sighed. At least it would be easier to treat him this way. No bickering and yelling like the last time. His stomach growled suddenly. Right, he'll just finish patching up Maxwell and then he can go get some food. Maybe Maxwell will be up in a few hours, he could talk him into going with him to get his backpack and the rabbit traps. Plus, he still hadn't thanked the man for saving him.

He began treating the head wound Maxwell had forgot about. Now that he had time to think about it, he did remember something form the previous night. Maxwell had held him while droning on about something. He frowned. No, that can't be right. Must have been a dream. Though, he suppose he could pester him about it when he wakes up.

* * *

 _Not a very good story, but I am trying to get better. As previously said, if anyone has a request feel free to let me know (I prefer Maxwell and Wilson, and no smut). Or you know, don't send a request, whatever._

 _Thanks for reading though_

 _~ That's Griminal_


End file.
